Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 200
The darkness of night was split only by the distant light of burning buildings. Far away Orruk clashed with Imperials, engaging in a slaughter most foul. The thunder of explosions and remote shelling carried on the wind, telling of death noble and foul, but it was all to the good. Blazing Shadow easily slipped through the ruins of the Purple District, crossing ground fought over so recently. Barely a Greenskin remained to be seen, their numbers drawn away by the prospect of fighting, only a few stragglers lingered, and they were not expecting to find Space Marines so far behind the line.
"The Orruk hunt aboard, their den unguarded," Ilquitio whispered over a closed vox.
"Be not heedless of danger," Sechura warned, "A single eye can discern our presence, a single voice can call a thousand foes."
"Swift and silent as the night owl," Vitcos urged, "The Ravenlord himself shall blink at our absence."
They'd left the underground cellars when they'd reached the more opulent districts, where houses were spaced far apart. Creeping through the ruins had been tense but the Smoke Jaguars excelled at stealth and neatly avoided any curious eyes. Many marvelled at the way Corax's bloodline could disappear, and they had tricks technological and genetic, but the true heart of their ability was that nobody seriously believed an eight-foot tall walking tank could be stealthy. Sentient life everywhere shared the trait that the eye saw primarily what the brain expected to see. Nobody truly looked for giants hiding in shadows, so any suggestions of such were easily dismissed. The Shadow-path was merely an extension of this, not invisibility, simply to become unnoticeable and forgettable. A ghost in the corner of vision, brushed off as a trick of the light.
A faint rumble echoed through the floorboards of the house they were occupying. Vitcos glanced out of a window and saw their prey approaching. The black carriage was slowly moving down a street, barely fitting between the buildings despite the considerable distance between them. Spiked railings were squashed under its broad treads and tiny gardens laminated into mud, left as flattened impressions of tracks. This strange machine had hung back since the invasion began, never drawing near to the fighting. That wasn't like Orruk at all, whatever it contained must be precious, Vitcos was determined to find out what.
He waved his Prowl to the windows and they slipped out onto a thin ledge. Dust crumbled under their weight on the narrow lintel, five stories up, a slip would not be good. The black carriage continued on unaware of their presence, the roof passing mere metres below their feet. As soon as the time was ripe the Smoke Jaguars let go, dropping onto the roof with soft thumps, expertly cushioning their landing so not to draw attention. With swift paces they slipped forward and dropped over the side, sliding down a narrow ladder to a hatch. Vitcos thought they would have to beguile the Machine Spirits to enter, but to his surprise the door was not locked and they entered unchallenged.
The interior was strange, for Orruk construction. No rickety flooring, no belching pipes or grinding of gears. The walls were smooth, vibrations of the treads muted, even the noise of the engines was barely a hum in the background. Lighting was soft but constant and there were no screaming Grots anywhere to be seen. Vitcos was troubled, he'd never seen such a thing wrought by Greenskin hands.
Vitcos led his Prowl forward, moving to a bridge. He drew his Chakrams, expecting a fight but instead found a bank of wired-together Greenskins operating the controls, as unaware of their surroundings as a Servitor. Sechura went to slit their throats but Vitcos waved him back, no point setting off alarms if they didn't have to. With no sign of a guard they reversed direction and headed deeper into the carriage, probing its mystery. The bulk of the insides was taken up by a hold, filled with cryo-tubes. Vitcos recognised some form of gene laboritorium, could this be the source of the Black Orruk, it seemed likely.
"A heartbeat!" Ilquitio hissed as his Daga blades came up.
"Tis but the beat of a pump," Sechura dismissed.
"I know the sound of a Metal-man's heart, it is such that caresses my ear."
"A son of the Clockwork God, here?!" Vitcos blinked, "Orkamemnon has aid from Mars?"
"Heathen treachery!" Sechura hissed in outrage.
"Here, this door!"
Vitcos inched through a door and found himself in a strange room. Slabs were laid out, each with a twisted Orruk body laid upon them. Strange deformities marred their shapes, born mutated and misshapen, then someone had got to work. Metal pistons had been rammed into limbs, plates stapled to chests while ripsaws and chattering stubbers had replaced hands. Targeting lenses bulged in eye sockets and many of them had strange devices drilled into their skulls. Vitcos had seen Orkamemnon at the palace from afar, and knew he was a fusion of Orruk and metal, it seemed he was trying to replicate his existence.
"Abomination!" Ilquitio hissed.
"The Xenos is abominable anyway," Sechura snorted.
"Not so much as this!"
"They slumber yet, find the metal-man!" Vitcos snapped.
"Over there!"
In the corner lay a Tech-priest, a human among Xenos. Treachery Vitcos expected but this was stranger than that. The adept had been nailed to a slab, crude iron spikes pinning him down. Wires had been connected to various ports and strange devices blinked and warbled as they monitored his vitals, or perhaps they were torturing him in some manner, the First had not the knowing of the Cult Technis to tell.
"Whose there?" a weak voice called out.
Vitcos inched into his eyeline and hissed, "We have come for you."
"Astartes?" the adept murmured, "Statically improbable."
"And yet we be!"
"How did you get inside?"
"Our ways are not for you to know, but your secrets you will reveal lest you taste our displeasure."
"Language inflexions are familiar; accent suggests Low Gothic is a secondary tongue. Primary language is a derivative of Copan's poetic cadence. Heraldry conforms to known patterns. Conclusion: you are Smoke Jaguars. Come for revenge at last."
Vitcos paused, "You... know of us?"
The magos' head rolled, "Surely you know of Tvos? Did not Aapo send you to terminate me? No, you seem unaware of my presence. New theorem, you are here for my work. The new paradigm of Ork."
"Your hands did this work?!" Sechura growled.
"Not this crude approximation of my skill!" Tvos snapped, "I designed the perfect creatures, flawless in all respects. But my earlier efforts broke free of my leash. Orkamemnon turned on me! I was forced to watch my brilliance subverted by cretins!"
Vitcos raised his Chakrams threateningly, "You claim to have wrought this horror, from your own mouth you are condemned. The wages of sin are death."
Tvos snorted, "Threats of pain and punishment, how like your gene-father!"
"Speak not of the Ravenlord!"
"No not Corax, the other one..."
Vitcos didn't understand what he meant but was rudely interrupted as a door swung open at the far end of the laboritorum. Heads snapped about and bolters raised as a Mad Dok Orruk stepped within, followed by a clanking construct, a limbless Greenskin welded into a frame like a poor-excuse for a Killa Kan. A moment's pause, and then the Mad Dok bellowed in outrage and dove aside as its construct charged.
"Diorkgenes! Stop him before he wakes the Cyborks!" Tvos yelled. Vitcos was already on the move, charging to intercept the Greenskin. It wasn't fleeing, the Xenos was diving for a large handle on the wall, which presumably would wake the Cyborks. Vitcos didn't give him the chance, a Chakram left his hand and neatly sliced off the outstretched limb, leaving a gushing stump behind. A man would have been paralysed by shock but this foe merely snatched up a bone saw and came at Vitcos with a wild yell.
"Dats' me nose-pickin' hand!" Diorkgenes snarled as he came at Vitcos.
The First neatly dodged the thrust as he snarled, "I am your doom!"
"Gonna make ya bleed, gonna make it hurt!" a furious exhortation issued forth.
"Your death shall be pathetic, your end unworthy of a saga!"
The Mad Dok came at him with a flurry of stabs but Vitcos was easily able to rebuff them. This foe was no Orkamemnon, merely a tinkerer of flesh and a moulder of bone. The clumsy strikes found nothing to hit, and Vitcos yet held a Chakram in hand. He sidestepped another blow, then brought his weapon down on the remaining arm. Flesh parted and the Orruk had no hands to trouble the Smoke Jaguar. A quick and painless death could he have imparted but Vitcos was not feeling merciful.
The First punched the Ork with his free hand, then kicked him back into the wall. A slash from his Chakram opened the metal panelling and he grabbed a cable from within, sparking with motive force. A cold smile crept onto his face as he yanked the cord free, severing it to expose the elements within. Diorkgenes surged forward but was kicked back, then the end of the cable was driven into the devices sticking out of his head. Diorkgenes jerked as random current surged through the meat of his brain, torrents of electrical knives tearing at neurons. The Mad Dok shook wildly and his jaw rattled but Vitcos pressed on, enjoying the agony of his foe. Unlike the killing in the tunnels the death of a Xenos was just and righteous, he would enjoy it to the fullest.
"Gluuuuurggh!" Diorkgenes wailed as his brain cooked in his skull. Vitcos applied pressure, holding the cable to the head, sending the Orruk into the embrace of death one nerve ending at a time. Wild convulsions tore through the foe and still he kept the torment going. Eyes boiled, the ears burned off and skin charred around the contacts and still he kept going. The Mad Dok's jaws flailed and bit his tongue in half but still the First applied pressure. Not until smoke poured out of the mouth did he relent, allowing Diorkgenes' charred corpse to topple to the floor unmoving, brain a broiled mush leaking out of his ears. That had been a joy to behold.
He looked around and found his Kinsmen had made short work of the construct, Ilquitio's Daga blades wet with blood. The killing had been swift and efficient, unlike his own, but surely the noise would not pass undetected. The Prowl had to depart soon, with word of what they had uncovered. If this was Orkamemnon's plan for the future, the Imperium must know.
"Be vanishing as snow in the spring!" Vitcos ordered.
"Gift me this hunt-kill," Sechura growled as he moved to the bound adept.
"No!" Tvos pleaded, "Spare me! I'll tell you all I know!"
"You know nothing of note," Vitcos hissed.
"I know Orkamemnon's goal, and what he intends for the galaxy. I know why you must stop him. Spare me and I'll tell you everything, take me with you!"
"Coward! Cravenness rules your heart," Ilquitio hissed.
"Hollow insults, coming from your bloodline!"
"Again you insult the Ravenlord!"
"Not him, your other gene-sire!"
Vitcos remembered the strange words from before and paused, "What untruths do you gush?"
Tvos' bound head lifted a hair, "Methuselah told me, long ago. The Smoke Jaguars are hybrids, a fusion of gene-lines. XIXth Legion, Raven Guard and VIIIth Legion, Night Lords. You have two sires, Corvus Corax and Konrad Curze!"
Vitcos suddenly felt like a sledgehammer had hit him between the eyes as the impossibility of the words struck home, "You... you lie!"
"No lies, it is plain in your gene-markers. Surely you have noted the odd mutations of your line, the twisting of your talents."
"Tachna..." Vitcos breathed in horror, "The Gaze Catcher's Shadow-path is mutated."
Ilquitio gasped, "You cannot countenance this! He claims the blood of traitors runs in our veins!"
"I must... the truth is self-evident," Vitcos gulped in shock.
Sechura brandished his blade, "Let me cut out his false tongue!"
"No!" Vitcos rebuked, "We must take him alive."
"Let him live?!"
Vitcos could barely think through the swirling confusion of revelation, "I need time... we... we need certainty. To the Eldest we take him, to sort falsehood from truths. Surely Aapo can tell us if this is but a veil of misdirection. Take this one alive, bear him with us. We need guidance in this dark hour, by the Sun-Emperor may it not be true!"